


Are You Sure About That?

by AFrostByTrade



Series: Les Mis Drabble Fiction [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Cute, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Oops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:06:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFrostByTrade/pseuds/AFrostByTrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre is sick and Joly is insistent that everyone stay away. So what is Enjolras supposed to do that day? I'm sure our favorite poet will find a way to keep him occupied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anything For A Friend

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of a Les Mis drabble collection, that will have random parings, lots of fluff and (hopefully) only a little bit of angst. Beta'd by the lovely Smileyfacebandit.tumblr.com

It was midday when he realized something was seriously wrong. He had chills, though it was summer and he was sweating, he felt light-headed, and his breathing was very labored. Enjolras would be furious. Not at Combeferre, for it wasn't his choice to be ill, but whenever Combeferre couldn't be around, Enjolras was likely to be in a worse mood. And that he was when Joly delivered the news.

“Enjolras, no, you can not go see him. Let the man rest! He needs it. And you don't need to catch what he has.”

“Joly,” Enjolras steeled his nerves. “If you don't move out of my way, I will get my bayonet, and I will not be kind.” He said, voice dripping with fury.

“Enjolras, that's not a good idea. Come back later, when his fever's down a bit. Go to class, go to meeting, just don't bother my patient.”

“He's not just your patient, he's my best friend!” Enjolras exclaimed.

“He is my friend too. And so are you. Which is why I don't want you causing him to get restless and worse, and I don't want you to get it either. Go occupy yourself and come back later. I assure you, he's not going anywhere.” Joly tried for light and calming, but he voice cracked a few times too many. But his goal was accomplished, more or less, as a pissed off blonde stormed away from him.

Joly turned to go back into Combeferre's room.

“You didn't have to send him off, you know.”

“Oh, yes I did. Otherwise, I'd never keep you resting.” Joly sat and gently stroked the moth enthusiast's hair. It was wet with sweat and smelled strongly of old books.

“He wouldn't have asked anything of me, but a full recovery.”

“And yet, you still would have leaped out of bed with one glance. I know you, Ferre. Perhaps better than you realize.”

“Oh? Really, dear Joly, student of medicine?” Combeferre jested.

“You'd do anything to keep the boy happy, even if it risks yourself. Well, I won't let you, not this time.”

The guide thought on it for a moment, before deciding to not press the issue. “I think you're right, Doctor.” He winked.

“And I think you should rest, patient.” Joly giggled. It was games like these that he missed. He headed for the door, but not before placing a light kiss on Combeferre's forehead.

Enjolras was early for meeting. An entire 5 hours early. With Combeferre on bedrest, and Marius on a date with that distraction Cosette girl, he had no one to make him occupy himself. Courfeyrac would be too busy hitting on anything with 2 legs, Feuilly and Bahorel would be busy with... Well, he didn't want to think about that. Bossuet would be helping Grantaire get over his hangover. He refused to stoop so low as to hang out with Gavroche and the other children of the streets. He was a grown man, after all, and he had some dignity. That left him with one option.

Jehan.

He and the petit poet were never particularly close. Not to say that Enjolras didn't like the guy. Because he did. He liked him enough, they were just... Different. They liked different things, had different views, everything about the two men spoke volumes as a testament to how different they were. But at the end of the day, Jehan was a good man, and a good friend to have. And with that thought in mind, Enjolras started off towards his flat.

It took him about 3 minutes before he knew he was heading in the right direction. He could smell it, before he could see it, with the enormous garden Jehan had cultivated since moving in, just under a year ago. Enjolras had only been there once, for the housewarming party, and he left not long after arriving. He had a lot of work to do and Patria needed him. But this time, he would stay for a while, to take his mind off of everything.

Upon arriving, Jehan was just returning from the market.

“Enjolras! So nice to see you outside of the Musain.” He immediately went over to hug the taller blond. “Such a surprise. What brings you to my doorstep? Especially alone. No friend should travel alone.”

“You did.” Enjolras said absentmindedly while trying to back out of the sudden embrace.

“Ah. But that is not true, mon ami. I had little Cher traveling with me.” He gestured towards a little black and white kitten. “She'll keep me safe on these streets, won't you precious?” The kit offered up a small meow and clawed at Enjolras's pant leg.

“Stop that.” Enjolras hissed down at the kitten. It retreated back to Jehan's side.

“Well, since you're here, you should come in.” The wordsmith said whilst unlocking his door. “Up we go.” He started climbing the stairs. Enjolras followed wordlessly.

Once they had entered the flat, the smell grew much more potent. It was flowers and incense.

“I see your garden's expanded.” The red-clad revolutionary attempted small talk.

Jehan blushed a bit, and smiled. “Yes, thanks.” He began putting away the food he bought at the market. The kitten hopped up onto the couch and purred, nuzzling into Enjolras's side.

“Uhh, ummm. They let you have pets in here?”

“They let me house Courfeyrac for a week, didn't they?” He winked, giggling fondly at the memory.

“Good point.” Enjolras responds, remembering his own encounter with letting Courf crash on his couch for 2 days. He wasn't quite as fond of his memories. Silence lasted for a few minutes before Jehan opened his mouth again.

“Would you like some lunch? It wouldn't be much, but you are my guest and-”

“No, thank you. I'm not really hungry.” Enjolras cut him off.

“You're never hungry. You're so determined to work yourself to death.”

Ah, yes. This is why they rarely hang out outside of the group. Jehan has a sort of, motherly instinct to coddle people, and Enjolras hates being coddled. “Jehan, please.” He said almost pleadingly.

The poorly dressed poet merely sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. But only if you eat a little.”

This time is was the leader's turn to roll his eyes. “Alright. But just a bit.”

Jehan smiled enthusiastically, which caused Enjolras to chuckle. “I've never known someone so eager to feed a person the food they bought with hard earned money.”

“Anything for a friend.” Jehan smiled.

“Of course.” Enjolras got up and walked over to him. “Is there anything I can help with?”

“No no no mon ami! You are the guest. Sit, rest, don't worry about a thing. Make yourself at home. I think I have some Voltaire and Tolson on the coffee table, and there's bound to be more on the bookshelf.”

Enjolras nodded and walked over to the bookshelf, skimming titles and authors, just to pass time. Had he wanted to read, he'd have done so in his own flat. Thankfully, it wasn't long before Jehan beckoned him, with a plate full of food.

“Jehan, I said-”

“I know what you said, and I know how you get. You'll eat it, whether you think you will or not.”

Enjolras pouted, causing Jehan to blush then chuckle, patting his companion on the back before guiding him to the table.

As soon as they sat, Jehan said a quick prayer and began to eat, shoveling tiny bites into his mouth. His plate had even more than Enjolras's. The blonde would have been surprised, but he had seen Jehan eat before and knew better than to be fooled by the tiny exterior. The guy could eat for an army if given the chance.

“So,” Jehan started, once he swallowed one more bite, “You never did say what brings you to this part of the town. Is everything alright?”

“Oh yes. I'm fine.” Enjolras started, “Combeferre's a bit ill though.”

“Oh no! I must send him a bouquet. Do you know what with?”

His countenance dropped, and suddenly there was an air of defeat and irritation about him. “No, Joly was too stubborn to tell me, or even let me see him.”

“Hmm...” Jehan mused for a moment.

Enjolras dismissed it for a moment, before deciding to ask. “Hmm, what?”

“Oh, nothing.” Jehan ate a few more forkfuls, “Joly didn't seem too worried about him making a full recovery, right? He knew Ferre would be fine?”

The revolutionary was thoughtful for a little while. “Yes, he did seem to know Combeferre would make a full recovery. He wasn't as frantic as usual. But he still wouldn't let me see him.”

The poet laughed quietly and shook his head.

“What?”

He looked startled. “Nothing, just... I don't think Ferre's as sick as Joly wants you to believe.”

“You don't think he's ill? I heard him retching and coughing earlier. Besides, Combeferre would never fake an illness.”

“No, my friend, you misunderstand me. I do believe our dear guide is sick. I just don't think it's as extreme as Joly wanted you to think.” He smiled knowingly.

“Why would you say that?” Enjolras was dumbfounded. He couldn't begin to figure out what the wordsmith was saying.

Jehan sighed and chose his words cautiously. “You've never really noticed the... difference, in the way they look at each other, have you?”

The red jacket wearing man shook his head, confounded. “I do not understand what you mean.”

The little poet leaned towards Enjolras and gave him a peck on the cheek. “You see much, but observe naught, dear Enjolras. Our guide and medical student have been mad for each other for ages. I think Joly just wanted to have a day.”

The blond's eyes went wide. “Oh.” It all made sense now. Joly not letting him see his friend, Combeferre seeking Joly first, then Enjolras, the way they often were together when Enjolras wasn't stealing Combeferre's time. “I see now.” He stood. “Thank you Jehan. I think there's something I must do.” He began to walk towards the door.

“Oh? Leaving so soon? But there's still dessert to be had.” Jehan spoke. Cher started meowing and pawing at his leg.

“Back you.” He said to the kitten.

“She likes you.”

This caused the man's expression to soften. He reached down and pet her, picking her up and placing her back on the couch. “Stay.”

Jehan rose and walked over to Enjolras. “Follow your own order.” He spoke, “Don't interrupt them today. I'm sure whatever you have to say will go much more appreciated tomorrow.” He put a hand on the other man's shoulder.

The leader sighed. “You're probably right.” He sat, defeated on the couch. But this time, defeat was much nicer, and comfortable, and friendly. It was very, Jehan.


	2. Of Hands and Hard-Ons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan meant to have a serious talk with Enjolras and that's all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet again, I must thank my wonderful beta, Smileyfacebandit.tumblr.com for staying up with me and putting up with me and my slow typing. I love you hun.

When Enjolras had originally set out on that quest, he had 5 hours to spare. Now, he would be late if he and the poet didn't hurry to the Musain at full speed. He had no clue how the time had gotten away from him so. They had been cuddling sitting on the couch, just talking about whatever came up, be it political, philosophical, psychological, artistic, or whatever. Jehan was so knowledgeable and had such interesting views. He had begun to wonder why he never got close to the man before.

The got to the Musain with 2 minutes to spare. Enjolras escorted Jehan to their usual section of the cafe, forgetting that they were still holding hands. A few heads turned, a few eyebrows raised, because, this was Enjolras we're talking about, and he doesn't allow physical contact from anyone. Ever. Courfeyrac gave a cocky grin and whistled a bit, before turning his attention to the next pretty girl that entered the room. Bossuet gave a feeble smile and Feuilly high-fived Enjolras before taking a seat. The rest of the guys showed their enthusiasm, a part from Grantaire, who looked a bit sullen. Enjolras suspected it had to do with his hangover, but Jehan knew it was something else.

“Why is everyone so cheery today? Did I miss some sort of good news?” The leader asked quietly.

Jehan blushed and squeezed his hand as a response. Realization flashed across Enjolras's face. “Oh.”

The wordsmith nodded and started to untangle their hands. “Don't worry too much about it though. I'm sure they won't think that way for long with how-” The red flag wielding enthusiast silenced him with a chaste kiss on the lips, before letting go and taking his place at the front of the group to speak.

R just stared at Jehan. Not a look of hatred or betrayal, or even hurt. It was a dead look, as if there was nothing left in the world for him anymore and he had no reason to continue. Part of the wordsmith wanted to avoid him, ignore the drunk and pretend that what he feels will go away. But instead, he goes and sits next to him, hoping that somehow, he can fix everything and make him better.

He knows there's no way that will happen.

“Grantaire? Are you alright?”

The drunk merely grunts in response, not trusting his voice.

The poet fumbled for words. “I had no idea... It just happened. He came to my flat and things-”

Grantaire held up his hand to signal him to stop.

“R, I'm-”

“I don't care. I don't want to even hear about it. I don't want to think about what in hell lead you two to your flat, I don't want to know what or how much you did there, I don't want to think about how intimate you two were. So spare me the detail.” He nearly growled.

“Grantaire, it's not like that.”

“I don't care what it's like! What part of that don't you understand?” The volume of the conversation slightly increased.

“I'm sorry. I know you love him.”

“You.” Grantaire whispered.

“I didn't mean to... Wait, what?” Jehan thought his ears were playing tricks on him.

“You.” The artist repeated, “I love you.”

Jehan took a moment to process the words. “But, you always looked at Enjolras like,”

“I know what I look at Enjolras like. He is a god. I worship him. But the love I hold for him is very different that how I feel for you.”

The wordsmith was at a loss. “Grantaire, why had you not spoken sooner?”

Grantaire looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. “Oh, little Prouvaire, you forget who you are talking to. I was never worthy of your time anyway.”

In that moment, Jehan grabbed Grantaire's hand. “Don't you dare think that, not even for a moment.”

“Tis true.”

“No, it most definitely not. You are worthy and deserving of love, like any other precious creature on this earth.”

The drunk sigh and removed his hand from the smaller man's grip, replacing the presence with that of a bottle. “You say the kindest of things to those who deserve them the least. I am a worthless drunk. My being is nothing more than an annoyance and a hindrance to all who come in contact with me.”

The words sounded familiar to the poet, and it only took but a moment to place why. He decided that he would have a serious talk with Enjolras after tonight's meeting. Perhaps over tea.

 

They did have a serious talk over something that night. Jehan over the dinner table, and Enjolras over him. The poet would swear that he didn't mean for that to happen.

_“Enjolras, I'm serious. The way you down talk Grantaire is too much.”_

_“The drunkard is none of my concern, yet he seems to always be my problem. If he were to sober up some, maybe then I could feel something for his condition, but not a second before then.”_

_“Enjy.” Jehan pouted. Under normal circumstances, he hated any and all nicknames anyone gave him. But there was just something about the way Jehan's lower lip jutted out and how his eyes got really wide when he did it that made Enjolras okay with it._

_“No. I'm not coddling him. I've tried to help him in the past, and my efforts were fruitless. Tell me, Prouvaire, what has changed since then? What progress has he made that should cause me to be so inclined to help him again?”_

_The flower wearing redhead was silent._

_“Exactly my point.”_

_“Patria would be disappointed.” He whispered. He knew it was low to use the Cause against their passionate and devout leader, but it was the only thing he had._

_“Don't you dare bring that into this conversation. He is not for Patria, so why should I be for him!?” Enjolras glared, though deep down, he knew why precisely. And Jehan wasn't too bashful to say it._

_“Because he's a part of your beloved Patria, like it or not.”_

_The leader sighed in defeat. His third one that day. It wasn't as pleasant as the last._   
_“Fine.” He grumbled, putting on his jacket._

_“It's far too dark for you to walk home. Stay the night.” The wordsmith said. His companion nodded his confirmation. Jehan smiled and walked behind him, massaging his shoulders. “You're tense. You really should relax more.”_

_“If I relax, people will die.”_

_“And if you don't, you'll die before you can even attempt to save the land.”_

_“Thanks for the support.” He grimaced._

_Jehan kissed his temple. “You're welcome, Apollo.”_

_Enjolras felt a sudden jolt of electricity through his being. “What did you call me?”_

_The wordsmith was a bright red. “A-A-Apollo.” He stammered. Again, there was electric energy._

_Enjolras stood and faced Jehan. He leaned down so that his mouth was at the poet's ear. “Again.” He practically moaned._

_Jehan tilted his head to the side a bit. “Apollo.” He spoke with more confidence, wrapping his arms around Enjolras's neck before kissing him passionately. Enjolras moaned into the kiss, allowing Jehan to dominate a bit. The poet’s mouth many talents besides forming words._

_In a matter of moments, the duo had their hands all over one another, touching, grasping, clinging to all they could._

_Enjolras was the first to start removing clothing, practically ripping off the smaller man's waistcoat, though that was partially due to his hatred of the flower print monstrosity. Jehan followed suit in removing the infamous red jacket, and his cravat along with it._

_Their kiss was all tongues and teeth and rushed, but it was good. Hard enough to bruise, but still good. Jehan was moaning furiously beneath Enjolras, who was delighted by the noises the small ginger would make._

_Soon enough, the blood that usually rushed to Enjolras's head before a speech was rushing to much lower places, and causing a serious strain in his pants that he needed to be released from._

_Jehan realized this almost immediately and moved to free both his leader and himself from their remaining garments. Enjolras relished the attention paid to his lower regions, which often went neglected due to work for Patria._

_“Prouvaire.” He moaned when Jehan’s hand brushed over him._   
_“Mmhmm.” The poet let out between kisses. Currently, he was trailing along the other man’s jaw. Enjolras fisted his hair and pulled him up for another kiss. Before they had even begun, they agreed that they wouldn’t make it to the bedroom._   
_Enjolras fetched a lit candle and began gathering the tallow on his fingers. He looked at the poet, silently asking if he was sure he wanted this. For a reply, Jehan bent over the table and spread his little legs as far as he could, nodding at the man above him._   
_Enjolras breathed a sigh of relief. He began rubbing up and down the poet’s thighs, gently massaging them, in order to relax the tiny man. Every so often, he’d let his hands drift up to the perfect curve of an ass and tease the taut flesh around his puckered hole. Each time, a moan was pushed from the wordsmith’s lips, making his partner eager to do so again._   
_After a while of that, the revolutionary felt like he had teased enough, and carefully worked a finger in, pushing in one knuckle at a time, then pulling halfway out. Jehan’s moan got more frequent, and he began to cant his hips backwards._   
_“Mmhvmh” He moaned._   
_“Come again?” Enjolras jested._   
_“More. More more more. Please, oh mon Dieu, more!”_   
_Enjolras smiled and worked in a second finger. “If two fingers have you this vocal, how will you be with my full length in you?” He chuckled. He slowly worked the two fingers in and out of his lover, scissoring and aiming to brush that wonderful bundle of nerves. And once he found it, he teased it relentlessly, making the poet moan and blush and writhe beneath him. He felt it was time to add a third finger. Jehan kept pushing back onto Enjolras’s hand, trying to take those long, delicate fingers in as deep as he could._   
_“‘mm ready. Pl-please! Mon Dieu, mon cher. S’il te plaît.”_   
_“Hmm? Ready for what?” Enjolras inched his fingers out before slamming them back in. That elicited another explicit noise from the beauty beneath him._   
_“Baise-moi, s’il te plaît, je veux que tu me.”_   
_He ceased all movements and removed his fingers, fetching the tallow again. “Say it again.”_   
_Jehan whimpered at the loss, but eager to replace it with something more substantial, he repeated himself. “Fuck me, please, I want you to. Please Apollo, fuck me.”_   
_That was all it took for Enjolras to be lost to his immense need. He coated his length thoroughly with what was left of the tallow. He positioned himself behind the wordsmith, and looked at him again. “Are you sure about this?” He asked._   
_Jehan groaned and started to back himself onto E’s member. “Okay, okay. Just making sure.” He said, grabbing the ginger’s hips. He lined up his length and began to penetrate, going so slowly, he thought it would kill him. Once he was fully inside the smaller man, he gave time to adjust. Jehan kept involuntarily clenching around the massive intrusion, tightening so deliciously around Enjolras that he thought he might release, right then and there. He stood and watch the expression on the man go from uncomfortable, to better, to bliss._   
_“Enjolras?”_   
_“Yes, Jean darling?”_   
_“Move.”_   
_The blonde smirked. “Anything for a friend.” He winked. He started off at a slow pace, moving inch by inch, as of to not hurt his partner. But when the poet clenched purposefully around him and demanded to be “fucked into the table, like a whore” he had to obey. He set a brutal pace inside the smaller man, who soon became grateful that the table was against the wall. In seconds, he was a writhing, screaming mess, begging for it harder, faster, more. Enjolras was determined to not be spent too soon though, so to quell the request of the flower lover, he placed a hand firmly on his member, and jerked teasingly._   
_“Yes! Oh oui, comme ça, c’est parfait!” Jehan moaned. He started to buck his hips to match E’s rhythm. They were both taken by the pleasure._   
_“Jehan, bien Dieu. You’re so incredible. Oh, ohh!” Enjolras moaned._   
_The wordsmith looked back at him. “Apollo.” He said, pleading. “Oh mon précieux Apollo. S’il vous plait.”_   
_Everytime Enjolras heard Jehan call him by that, he got closer and closer to the edge. He was never fond of the name before, only having been used by the drunkard, or when he was being mocked. But they way it fell from Jehan’s beautiful rosy lips made it the most amazing sound. He wanted it to keep gracing his ears, so, he angled himself to pound the spot that he knew would keep the poet moaning._   
_Once Enjolras found it, Jehan saw stars. “Apollo! Apollo!” Jehan choked on his moans. “So... c-c-close. PLEASE!” he cried._   
_E opened his mouth, but what came out were not the words he intended. “Beg.”_   
_Jehan turned to get a good look at the man above him. Were those really the words of their selfless leader? The man who fought for freedom and equality? And now, he’s making Jehan beg for release. And Jehan was suddenly even more turned on because of that._   
_“Please dear Apollo, please let me cum. Please please PLEASE let me cum! Oh! Can I cum now? Please? I need it. Oh Dieu. Apollo Please!”_   
_Though Enjolras was  thrusting and jerking furiously, his voice was surprisingly even. “No. Not yet.”_   
_“Please Please PLEASE! Oh! Apollo! I- I can’t! I’m-” Jehan exclaimed._   
_“Cum.”_   
_It was seconds later that Jehan did. He climaxed so hard he blacked out, an explosive scream emanating from his tiny being, Apollo on his lips. Enjolras was soon after, seeing stars and, for the first time in his life, allowing pleasure to overtake him and ride the waves of their orgasms out._   
_They were both bent over, panting heavily. Enjolras was the first to catch his breath, having landed right on top of Jehan. He carefully slid out, and grabbed a cloth to clean them up with, being extra cautious to not hurt or re-arouse the poet. Though it was their first time together, word got around in their friend group that the man was gifted in bed, and always ready for the next round. Once he finished, he disposed of the cloth, and carried him to bed. They cuddled, Jehan curling around Enjolras, Enj wrapping his arms around the smaller man._   
_“If Combeferre being sick, and me giving you what you want leads to this, I think I could get used to it.”_   
_Jehan hummed a contented response, nuzzling in more. “It wasn’t what was intended, I’ll have you know.”_   
_Enjolras looked down at the other man skeptically. “Of course not, Jehan.”_   
_They fell asleep like that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to write fluff... Then Grantaire mini-angst and smut happened. Oops. Sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave feedback. And visit anytime. afrostbytrade.tumblr.com


End file.
